


lullabies to paralyze

by Rogers_Car



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: (?), 1966, Cherry bomb incident, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of the KKK, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rejection, Sorry Not Sorry, kinda i guess, paul gets shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:09:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27447637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rogers_Car/pseuds/Rogers_Car
Summary: After John’s “Bigger Than Jesus” comment, things take a turn in Memphis that lands Paul in the hospital.
Relationships: Cynthia Lennon/John Lennon, Jane Asher/Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 13
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! I’m taking a break from This Bird Has Flown (accidentally logged out of iCloud and lost my notes) so I decided to squeeze this out. TW for period typical racism (nothing explicit)

It was not a good night for The Beatles.

John’s “Bigger Than Jesus” statement had blown up far worse than anyone thought it would, and apparently the KKK were outside burning their records.

As they were tuning their instruments while waiting for Bobby Hebb to finish up his set, Paul glanced over at John. The man was sweating, and even though he told everyone he was fine, Paul was certain he was going over one hundred different reasons this was all his fault.

Paul wanted to reassure John, let him know there was no way they could’ve known this would happen, but everyone had tried and they just couldn’t get a response better than “piss off, I’m fine.”

As Bobby Hebb finished up his set, he waved to the crowd, giving them a big smile before rushing off stage. He gave The Beatles a nod in acknowledgement, too high off adrenaline to hold a conversation. Not to mention, they didn’t really have time, as Paul guided John to the stage with a hand on his back (which John shook off immediately once they reached the stage).

John smiled at the crowd: a screaming, cheering mess. “Hello, everyone. We’d like to thank you for coming to our show.” John started as always, slightly rushed due to his nerves. “We hope you all got in alright,” he started, and by some miracle, he looked over at Paul who was pursing his lips as if telling him “ _don’t dwell on it. Just move on.”_ John seemed to get the message, turning back to the crowd.

“Anyroad, without further ado, here’s _Nowhere Man_!”

Things seemed to go well, and as they launched into ‘ _If I Needed Someone_ ,’ Paul was dancing and singing with George at the microphone, almost forgetting there were riots outside of the building.

Paul was suddenly thrown back into that reality, though, as three shots rang out and a sharp, burning pain blossomed in his side. He wasn’t near one of the mics as he shouted out, the rest of the band hardly skipping a beat as they all looked at each other. He could hear the screams of the fans and see cops dragging someone out.

Paul, the other hand, had his hand squeezing the neck of his bass so hard that his knuckles were turning white. The burning sensation in his side spread out to the rest of his abdomen and his breathing became erratic. 

As his hearing became fuzzy and black spots enveloped his vision, he became unsteady on his feet. A sick feeling set into his stomach, and he heard the playing stop. The floorboards of the stage rattled as George rushed over to catch Paul as he fell backwards. As he was getting pulled off the stage by George (“Shit, come on, Paul,” George murmured as Ringo rushed to help him), the last thing he heard was a nasally, slightly shaky (he’s never heard John’s voice waver before) voice over the speakers.

“Whoever shot my best mate, _fuck you_.”

———

The next time Paul woke up, he felt sore all over. He was lying on a bed on his back, and he didn’t want to open his eyes at all. He wanted to go back to sleep.

“Mr. McCartney?”

Paul groaned as he opened his eyes, only to be blinded by the hospital lights. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light.

“He’s awake,” he heard someone say. He also heard rustling to his left and he looked over to see a nurse changing his IV bag. He sat there for a moment trying to recollect what happened. One moment he was on stage, and the next...

_Oh_.

Oh, _Christ_ , he’d been shot! And where were the others? We’re they okay? They had to be if George and Ringo were able to carry him off stage and John was able to make it on his own. Paul moved his hand around to where he felt the pain before when he was on the stage. He hissed through his teeth, feeling a nurse pull his hand away. “No need for that.” She said.

Okay, he was alive, and the bullet seemed to have been lodged into his side. As far as Paul knew, there was nothing severe right there. To be fair, though, last time he checked anatomy was when he went through his mother’s medical textbooks years ago.

He felt himself begin to drift off again. Perfect, he thought, I’m still tired. Before he knew it, he was asleep again.

———

The next time Paul woke up, he blinked his eyes open. This time, he remembered he was in a hospital and he just got surgery to remove a damn bullet from his side. When he fully opened his eyes, he noticed there was far less light than before. He looked around to see a sleeping Brian in a chair next to him.

Paul would hate to disturb the man, but he didn’t want to pass out again without talking to Brian. “Eppy...” he rasped out, realizing his throat was dry and he couldn’t talk as loud as he wanted. He tried his best to coat his throat by swallowing some saliva before trying again.

“Bri.”

The louder voice got Brian rustling in his seat. He watched as the manager picked his head up from where it was resting on the wall and rubbed his eyes. He focused on Paul and let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. You’re awake.” He said quietly, though Paul could hear the relief in his voice as he let out a sigh.

Paul watched Brian stretch and get up to grab a pitcher and pour something into a glass. He came back and set the glass on the table next to the bed before moving to help Paul sit up. The man in question groaned in pain, as the surgery they had done went right through his abdominal wall.

“I know, I know it hurts,” Brian’s soothing voice told him, “I need you to sit up for me, Paul.”

  
Paul just nodded and let Brian help him move so his back was against the wall. He then held the glass up to Paul and the younger man gratefully took it, inspecting it to see that it was water before downing it quickly.

Paul let out a breath as he finished chugging the water, wiping his mouth and relaxing back against the wall. “Thanks Eppy.” He said, and he heard a hum of acknowledgement.

“We’re so glad you’re okay.” Brian started. “We were worried there that John might have a conniption if you didn’t wake up soon enough.” That made Paul smile and roll his eyes, but a deep, dark feeling settled in his stomach.

John had lost people all of his life. His father first off, and then his uncle, who he watched die right in front of him, and his mother. He couldn’t imagine the turmoil John must be in, thinking he’s going to lose his best mate. He wondered what John would do if Paul had died just then. If the bullet hit him in the heart or the head.

Paul had bouts of self-doubt when it came to John. The older man made it hard to know if he loved someone. Everyone knew he loved Cynthia, well at least the people who were close to him did. Paul didn’t want to say that John loved him as much as Paul thought he did. Maybe John would move on, continue his music career.

Paul knew better than that now, though. If what Brian said was true, John would be devastated if he died.

And while, yes, it was good to know that John loved him, it was a scary thought to think of what John might do if Paul died.

“Paul?” Brian said, and the bassist was shaken out of his thoughts. “Oh, hm?” He asked as Brian set another glass of water on the table. “I was saying you’d be good to go tomorrow. I got off the phone with Jane, and she said that she’ll take care of you in England so that you could go see your father if you’d like.”

Paul nodded, thinking about the fiery redhead he couldn’t wait to see again. “When will she be here?” He asked, looking up at Brian, who shrugged. “Most likely tomorrow. So with George, Ringo, and John.” He said. “I would call them to tell them that you’ve woken up, but I’m afraid they’d all rush here and annoy you.”

That made Paul chuckle and shake his head as he took the second glass of water and began to drink it. “You should go back to the hotel, Brian. You’ll get an awful crook in your neck, sleeping like that.” He sighed. Brian nodded, reaching to pat Paul’s shoulder. “Take it easy, alright? I’ll be back with the boys tomorrow.” He said.

Paul nodded as Brian refilled his glass one last time before he left. God, they were all lucky to have Brian as a manager.

———

Paul hadn’t known when he fell asleep, but he felt like a hypocrite for making Brian leave so he didn’t have to sleep in an uncomfortable position, when Paul woke up with the biggest kink in his neck.

It took him a bit to wake up, but he felt the sensation of a cold towel being wiped across his forehead. He mumbled and opened his eyes, following the arm of the person who was wiping the sweat from his forehead until he met eyes with John.

John didn’t say anything, just gazed back at Paul. He brushed the hair out of his face as he continued to run the cloth over his forehead until the fabric was no longer cool.

“Well, this is a pleasant thing to wake up to, I will say.” Paul finally managed, grinning up at John. Finally, as John pursed his lips and set the cloth down before smiling back at him, Paul could find the emotions that John knew how to hide so well.

Paul saw relief in the way John looked at him, and his eyes were dark, wearing heavy bags beneath them. It was obvious that John had stayed up that night crying, but Paul wouldn’t mention that.

They both grew up being told that men don’t cry, you have to stay strong. Paul hated that mindset, thinks that showing feelings is okay, but ever the hypocrite, he only embarrasses himself crying in front of anybody; even John.

John was still more open with his emotions than Paul was, but that wasn’t saying much. Still, he’s seen John cry more times than John’s seen him cry. He figures John’s gone through more than he has, so he has more to cry about. That must be it.

Paul reached for the glass of water, and John handed it to him. “Ringo went to pick up Jane from the airport.” He said, and Paul hummed, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a sip. “I’ll be able to leave today, then?” He asked. John nodded. “Yeah. We’re getting a plane back to England later.”

Paul hummed and nodded, resting his head back on the wall as he slowly sipped on the water. He saw John fidget in his seat, but he didn’t say anything about it.

“You’re _alive_.”

Paul barely heard it, it was hardly above a whisper. He looked at John, who had his gaze glued to the floor. “Sorry?” He asked, and John shook his head. “Nothing, I just-“ he looked up, but away from Paul. “We’re all glad you’re okay, Paul. You really had us scared for a moment, there.” He let out a half-hearted chuckle.

Paul frowned, but he didn’t say anything about it. He just stared at the water in his cup and sighed. “It’s not your fault, John.” He said.

John seemed to crumble at the weight of that sentence, because the man sunk down into his chair and ran his hands down his face. “I’m sorry, it’s-“ he started, taking in a shaky breath, and Paul could see his eyes glistening with fresh tears. “I can’t help but feel guilty, y’know? Those black lads and lasses are supposed to feel safe and understood in an unsegregated theatre, then the fucking KKK shows up outside, then you get shot and we all think you _died_ -“

Paul watched as John pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to hold back his tears the best he could. “And I just _watched_. We all heard that gun fire and I saw you stumble back and I stood there like a bumbling idiot while George and Ringo actually helped you. Then I had the bleedin’ _audacity_ to say ‘fuck you’ to the guy that shot you while I sat there and did nothing!”

So that’s what this was about.

John’s told him only a few times how useless he felt sometimes. One he remembers was in the studio, where he was having a bad day trying to figure out lyrics and nothing quite fit. _“Y’know, sometimes I feel less than useless at these sessions.”_ John had told Paul.

Paul reached out to grab John’s wrist, pulling him up and over to the bed. He wrapped an arm around John, rubbing his back soothingly. John practically clung to him, his face buried in his shoulder. His arms wrapped around Paul’s torso tightly, like he was trying to keep him from floating away.

Paul was in so much pain from the angle and how tightly John was holding him, but he dared not make a sound or protest. John was typically very physical with Paul and the others, always screwing with them during interviews, but physical affection was few and far between.

“You’re _not_ useless, John. And none of this is your fault.” Paul said, feeling John take in a shuddering breath. “None of us could’ve _ever_ seen this coming.” He let John pull away, wiping his eyes.

“Sorry I’m cryin’ on ya like a queer.” John mumbled. “I just... I didn’t know what I was supposed to do if you died.” He said, and Paul felt his heart drop.

The realization hit him like a train that he could’ve died last night if the gun was aimed a tad bit higher and to the right. “Don’t worry about that,” Paul looked at the foot of his bed, “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul visits john

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn’t beta’d but I’m kinda proud of this chapter??? I thought of the last bit while I was finishing schoolwork so it was on my mind pretty much all day lol. I don’t know if this chapter is anything special but enjoy!

Paul left the hospital later that afternoon. They decided to take a back exit from the hospital, and John had helped Paul into the car.

Jane sat next to him, and the five of them were crushed into the back of the van. It was easier with the seats of the van along the wall so that they faced each other, but Paul was still squeezed between Jane and John. The poor man refused to leave his side.

Once they made it to the airport, George and John had helped him onto the plane and up the stairs (which hurt more than anything). They helped him sit down, and Jane took her seat next to Paul.

When John looked apprehensive, Paul shook his head with a smile. “I’m alright, John.” He said, reaching up to pat his arm. “Thanks for helping though.” Paul knew that’s all John wanted to hear at the moment, and his friend smiled at him before going to sit next to George who was starting a card game of some sort with Ringo.

By the time they landed, Paul had fallen asleep again, leaned against the window. Jane shook him awake gently and he looked around at the others.

Ringo was still awake, reading a book. George was awake as well, writing in his notebook. Probably thinking of a song, Paul thought. He glanced at John next to George, peacefully sleeping even though the shaders on the windows hadn’t been pulled, and the sunlight was beaming through.

Paul smiled at the rhythm guitarist, letting his gaze linger on John’s features. Paul thinks John must’ve been a Roman emperor in his past life. His sloped nose and handsome features along with that authoritative presence just made it even more obvious.

Jane put a hand on his shoulder, making him jump. He hadn’t realized he was staring. He looked at Jane, feeling embarrassment settle in his stomach. “Yes, love?” He asked, reaching to take her hand.

Jane smiled and squeezed his hand gently, kissing his cheek. “Are you sure you want to stay in England? We can always go to my dad’s.” She said, and Paul gave her a soft smile. “I’ve got loads of work to do once I’m better. It’ll only take a week or two to get back on my feet.”

The girl looked disappointed, but she didn’t press further. When the plane finally landed, Paul got up with a grunt. He saw George shaking John awake, though he averted his eyes to keep himself from staring again.

———

John was calling _every day_ to make sure Paul was okay, and he was kind of getting sick of it.

Of course, Paul thought it was endearing the first few times, but every morning the phone would ring and Jane would pick it up, going “it’s John.”

Now, as Jane handed the phone to Paul, the bassist ran his hands through his hair. “Yes, hello, John.” He checked the time. He tried to stay cheery, he always loves when any of his friends call, especially John. Only, he calls at the ass crack of dawn every morning, and it was having the affect of an alarm waking him up. He dreaded to hear his phone ring.

He could practically hear the smile in John’s voice as he talked, and Paul immediately felt bad for thinking that this was the one thing he didn’t look forward to every morning.

“Oh, Julian’s here too-“ John started followed by the noise of John shifting the phone onto his shoulder so he could pick up Jules. “Hi uncle Paul!” He heard an excited voice through the receiver. Paul’s bad attitude immediately brightened up.

“Hey, Jules. I’ve missed seeing you, little lad.” Paul said, listening to the little three year-old babble on about random stuff. He let out a happy sigh, going along with everything he said until John set the boy down and picked the phone back up.

“He’s so _smart_ , Paul. I got him a jigsaw puzzle to keep him busy and that only lasted about five minutes.” John told him. Paul couldn’t help but smile at that. Suddenly, he didn’t have the urge to tell John that he was calling too frequently.

“You should come see him today. He misses you.” John said and Paul sighed. “Can’t. My car’s in the shop. It crapped out on me yesterday.” He said. John gave a thoughtful hum over the phone. “I don’t mind picking you up. It’s not an awful drive.” He said.

Paul glanced over at Jane, who was still settling into bed. He looked outside to see the sky turning a pleasant yellow from where he could see the sun rise. Paul fiddled with the cord of the phone, twirling it around his fingers before a smile couldn’t help spreading across his face. “Sure, John. What time?” He asked.

Paul heard John shuffle around before he turned back. “How about around 11? Still gotta make breakfast.” Paul felt his stomach clench in...well, some emotion he wasn’t able to put his finger on. It was more akin to pity, but not quite. John woke up every morning before he even made breakfast just to talk to him.

“Yeah, yeah. Eleven’s good.” Paul said, resting his head against the wall. “Call me before you leave then, yeah?” He said, hearing a hum of confirmation. “‘Course. See you then.” He said. Paul smiled softly. “See you, John.” He told him before hanging up.

———

When John arrived, Paul sat himself down in the passenger’s seat of the car, leaning against the seat. John smiled at him, and Paul smiled back, buckling himself up.

“Hello, old chap!” John said in a posh accent. Paul couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, why hello, there!” Paul responded, glancing over at John. The other man was smiling right back at him and Paul could tell he was relieved to see him. If John was acting weird recently, Paul wrote it off as his relief that Paul was alive.

The rest of the car ride was quiet, but peaceful. The radio droned on as background noise, Paul tapping his foot to it. Once they reached Cynthia and John’s house, Paul got out, albeit a bit slowly (his side still had sharp pains when he used his abdominal muscles) and followed John inside.

Paul had always loved John’s home. It wasn’t too big, just perfect enough so that they didn’t have too many extra rooms. Cynthia came out to greet him, smiling with her three year old son in her arms.

“Hello, Paul. I’m glad you’re feeling okay.” Cynthia said, adjusting Julian in her arms. “I’ll go get the tea ready.” She said as Paul reached out to pick up Julian, who was more than happy to see Paul.

Paul grinned as Julian wrapped his arms around his neck. Paul hummed as he followed John into the living room, sitting down on the couch and letting little Julian go and play with his toys.

“Cynthia’s going to be leaving in a bit. Hope you don’t mind helping me look after the kid while she’s gone.” John said and Paul chuckled. “Oh, that was your ploy? To get me to watch Jules for you?” He asked teasingly.

Paul knew John and Cyn’s relationship wasn’t working out too well at the moment, and from what John was telling him, they were on the cusp of divorce. Paul felt bad for Cyn, of course. He knew Cynthia still loved John. She always had, even when John was just a teddy boy art student in Liverpool. He could tell though, that John couldn’t take the commitment properly, and he just settled down far too early in Paul’s opinion.

Paul nodded at John’s question. “Yeah, ‘course. I love looking over the lad.” He said. He thanked Cynthia as she brought them the tea, saying goodbye as she waved at the three of them before leaving. 

John looked at the tv before his gaze settled back on Julian as he sipped on the tea. “You wanna go play outside, Jules?” He asked, the young boy smiling and nodding at John. The boy’s father stood up and went to go take Julian’s hand to walk with him out. John looked at Paul and gestured with his head for Paul to follow him.

Paul grabbed his tea and went on the back patio, sitting down in one of the chairs. He looked at John. “What was that all about?” He asked, leaning back in his chair. John chewed his lip, looking away. “The news hasn’t let up on what happened.” He told Paul, reaching to grab a pack of cigarettes. “I don’t want him to see that.” 

Paul just nodded. He hadn’t seen the news in a while. Hell, he hardly watched TV anymore. After he got home, he stayed in his music room all the time, cranking out songs. 

John lit his cigarette and picked at the peeling paint of the patio table. The cigarette hung limp between his fingers as he absentmindedly blew out the smoke. Paul watched the action and quickly averted his gaze when John met it.

Paul quietly sipped on his tea, not looking up at John again. He knew that something was on his friend’s mind, but he also knew that John would tell him if he wanted. 

The bassist watched Julian swing on the swing set, smiling at the little ball of energy. Paul missed being little, not having to deal with the harsh reality he lived in. When his only concerns were going in for dinner at the right time.

Paul saw the smoke of John’s cigarette pass his face and he looked over at the man, who was blowing it right at him. Paul couldn’t help but smile, waving the smoke away. “You arse.” He said, making John laugh.

“Jules was worried about you.” John told him. “Kept asking where you were. I kept telling him you got hurt, and that you were busy getting better. Poor kid still didn’t understand.” John said, twirling the fag between his fingers.

Paul shrugged. “He doesn’t have to right now.” He said. “Won’t understand the gravity of things, how bad people can be.” Paul finished his tea and stole of of John’s cigarettes, letting the man light it for him.

Paul took the first drag, letting the burning smoke fill his lungs before letting it out. 

“Sometimes I feel like the bad guy, y’know?” John told him, and Paul looked over. “What do you mean?” He asked. 

John shrugged as he watched Julian move onto the sandbox, more than likely getting his clothes dirty and full of sand. “Julian deserves better than a bum like me who’s married, but still sleeps around like he’s on vacation in bloody Hamburg.” 

Paul frowned. He had to admit, John wasn’t the greatest husband, nor was he the perfect father, but...

“You’re not the bad guy, John.” Paul said, sighing as he tapped the ashes off of his cigarette. John looked at him. “What am I, then? The worst?” He asked. 

Paul shook his head, watching the smoke of the cigarette twirl into the air. “You’re a great musician. You’re my best mate. Youre-“

“Someone who puts my best mate’s life in danger. Someone who can’t stay committed to a relationship. Someone who can’t be a proper father.” John finished. Paul frowned and rolled his eyes. 

“Well, I never said you were the _greatest_ guy.” Paul said. “No one’s the greatest. Maybe Martin Luther King, but I don’t think anyone’s comparable to him.” He shook his head, looking at John. “I’m not the greatest guy either, but I think what matters most is that you get better.” He said finally.

John stayed silent for a bit before looking away and stubbing out his cigarette. “I love you, Paul.” He said, and Paul couldn’t help but smile. “I love you too, John.” He said.

John didn’t seem satisfied by that answer, but he didn’t say anything. Paul figured John might want to hear Paul say “no you don’t,” or make fun of him, but he just watched Julian play in the sandbox with his little wooden truck and his army men.

They sat in a peaceful silence for a bit before John spoke up again. “Do you think things would be different if one of us were a lass?” John asked. It sounded like a joke, like John was taking the piss out on him, but Paul still looked at John in confusion. “What do you mean?” He asked.

John simply shrugged, and Paul thought that was it, that he was just trying to get a ride out of him by implying that he looked like a girl. 

Paul smiled and rolled his eyes, ignoring John as he gazed off into the back yard of the home until he saw movement. He looked back at John and he moved towards Paul, leaning down to put a hand on his cheek. The bassist resisted the urge to flinch back or push John off of him. 

Paul’s breath hitched as John looked at him, and he felt a bundle of nerves in his stomach. What the hell was John doing?

  
Paul’s hand found John’s wrist that was holding him up on the arm of the chair. He didn’t know what he was doing. Trying to brace himself?

John must’ve seen the apprehension in his face, because he stood there, hand on Paul’s cheek, eyes searching Paul’s.

He was waiting for Paul to make a move himself, Paul finally thought. The realization hit him like a train. John wanted him to do something, but Paul refused to think he wanted him to do...that. Any time his thoughts collected enough to tell him that John wanted to kiss him, he’d will them away.

They sat there for a moment, in the most compromising position ever. If anyone saw this, or, god forbid, Cynthia came home, Paul would be crushed. But he couldn’t bring himself to move.

Paul eventually opened his mouth to talk (and he definitely noticed that John’s eyes darted down to follow that movement) before John suddenly flinched back and he saw Julian tugging on his shirt to get his fathers attention. “Daddy, I’m _hungry_.” The boy said.

John looked down at his son in bewilderment, both of them had forgotten he was there. John cleared his throat, picking Julian up. “How about some grapes and cheese, yeah?” He asked, and Julian smiled and nodded happily.

Paul stood up once John backed up and he straightened out his shirt, the cheek that John was touching feeling like it was on fire (but so were both of his cheeks). “I should go.” Paul said, and he didn’t mean for it to come out so harshly. 

John looked at him, and Paul realized just how embarrassed he was. It was a surprise his voice hadn’t shaken when he talked. “Yeah, alright.” He said softly. It was obvious he didn’t want Paul to leave. “I can drive you, if you need.”

Paul chewed on his lip and shook his head. “I’ll call a cabbie.” He said, sticking his hands in his pocket to find some change. He followed John inside as he set Julian on the counter. Paul went to ruffle Julian’s hair as he watched John fix the kid something to eat. 

“I’ll see you later, John.”

“Okay.”

———

The whole ride home, Paul was overthinking. He tipped the driver and got out to go into his house. Then, he did something he hadn’t done in a long time.

He cried.

He didn’t know what he was crying about. Well, he had an idea, of course, but he didn’t know why it hurt so much. He felt like he destroyed _everything_ between he and John, even though he wasn’t technically the one who started it all.

Paul didn’t feel betrayed, he didn’t feel angry. He just...felt like John expected him to reciprocate his feelings, even though Paul was sure he himself wasn’t queer.

That’s all it really came down to, really. He hadn’t known John was queer, and he didn’t have a problem with that, although it was a bit weird. Paul just wasn’t queer himself. 

He didn’t really want to think about it either, but it would just ruin him to keep pushing something so important aside. He sighed and sat down to watch tv. Something that was decidedly not the news.

By the time Jane got home, Paul had made dinner, and he sat down and ate with her. She’d noticed something was off with him, but she didn’t dare bring it up. After dinner, they cleaned up and went to sleep, something that proved challenging with Paul’s mind still very active.

Eventually, though, he did fall asleep, and though he had maybe slept with other girls while he was with Jane, even something so simple as what happened today made him feel unworthy of having her next to him.


End file.
